


the eleventh hour

by ralf



Series: Close to Canon [6]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Episode: s01e12 Malec, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 05:27:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17543555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralf/pseuds/ralf
Summary: “What can I do for you on this lovely morning?” Magnus asks with a lightheartedness he doesn't feel.Isabelle visibly hesitates, seemingly discarding several responses to this and her uncharacteristic indecision sets him on edge.She stalls by sitting down deliberately and finally digs out a thick cream envelope. “I'm here to deliver this.”[Set sometime during the first half of 1x12.]





	the eleventh hour

**Author's Note:**

> a day early since i'll be away tomorrow. also i have zero clue how to tag this, so suggestions are welcome.

“Isabelle.” Magnus feels surprise and disappointment warring within him that he is quick to conceal, opening the door further. “I should have known it was you when I felt a shadowhunter pass through my wards and heard knocking. All other shadowhunters just barge in like they own the place.”

Isabelle smiles the tiniest bit but it's restrained in a way that gives him pause. He leads the way into the loft and gestures her to the couch, sinking down on the adjacent armchair himself.

“What can I do for you on this lovely morning?” he asks with a lightheartedness he doesn't feel.

Isabelle visibly hesitates, seemingly discarding several responses to this and her uncharacteristic indecision sets him on edge.

She stalls by sitting down deliberately and finally digs out a thick cream envelope. “I'm here to deliver this.”

Magnus examines the letter in confusion, taking it from her when she holds it out and opens the flap. Inside is an equally cream-colored card reading

_Wedding Ceremony of Alexander G. Lightwood & Lydia Branwell_

in elegant golden loops.

The heavy cardstock falls from his fingers as if he'd been burned.

He knew this day would come but he hadn't thought it'd be _this_ soon. Magnus swallows, glancing at the daunting numbers. Today. It's _today_.

He looks at Isabelle, barely resisting the urge to protectively cross his arms over his chest. “I really don't know what you expect me to do with this,” he states, unable to keep the harshness from his voice.

“I think you do,” Isabelle responds quietly.

Magnus shakes his head. “I'm not sitting in attendance while Alec signs himself up for a lifetime of misery.”

A firey spark appears in Isabelle's dark eyes. Magnus recognizes it as pent up frustration she must have been bottling up for a while now. “I didn't think you would.”

“You want me to change his mind,” he realizes. A humorless laugh escapes him. “I tried, and it didn't work.” He shakes his head again, bitterly this time. “He's made his choice.”

“Magnus,” Isabelle says intently, desperation shining through her composed facade. “Jace and I couldn't stop him. I think you're the only one who still can.” She leans towards him, plea clear in her demeanor, her tightly clenched fingers, the tension running high in every fiber of her being. “ _Plea_ _se_. Save him.”

Magnus clenches his teeth, fighting against the unbidden feeling of hope unfurling its tiny wings in his chest once again. Hope has only ever dealt him heartbreak in the end, and he's done making the same mistakes over and over again. He claws the vulnerability out of his heart and turns it into something sharp.

“Alexander isn't my responsibility,” he presses.

For a moment he wonders who he's trying to convince, Isabelle or himself.

“I know,” she says, not backing down one inch. “But I also know that my brother is worth this.” Her eyes are steely underneath the soft brown. “And from the way you look at him I think you do, too.”

Magnus almost flinches back at being so easily figured out and he can feel his defenses going up, ready to lash out in the futile endeavour to keep his heart safe. Isabelle graciously turns her attention away to allow him a moment to compose himself, straightening the invitation on the table.

“Please,” she whispers again, her mellow tone belying her fierce spirit. Her eyes find his again, pleading with him.

Magnus averts his gaze, unable to meet her despair with callous rejection. “I'm not making a decision right this instant.”

Isabelle nods. “I understand.”

She gets up, picking up her own set of walls as she goes, smoothing her skirt down daintily as if this had been nothing more than a social call.

Halfway to the door she calls, “The ceremony begins at five sharp. Don't wait too long.”

Her words, the lingering warning of what he stands to lose if he remains here in the familiar safety of his home and his life, echoes long after the sound of her steps has faded.

 


End file.
